Why You?
by Besina
Summary: John has something to get off his chest. Sherlock is amazingly supportive.


It was an average day on an average Sunday afternoon during an average summer in London. The windows had been thrown wide to let in a bit of a breeze, though not much was stirring. Nothing of any import had happened recently, except perhaps for Sherlock _not _having thrown a hissy fit yet for lack of a case. Of course, it had only been one day. Come day three, all hell was sure to break loose. John sat back limply in his chair observing the ceiling; Sherlock sprawled out on his beloved sofa, also doing nothing, an extremely rare occurence as his fingers even remained unsteepled, laying folded across his abdomen. His eyes were closed, but he wasn't sleeping.

"Sherlock?"

"Mm?"

There was a brief sigh from the chair, a pause, then John quickly blurted, "I wish you wanted me."

Sherlock was a bit stymied. "What? You know I want you, you make life much more interesting. Unless... Are you speaking sexually?"

There was a sigh directed at the ceiling, a brief pause, then, "Yup. I've given up ignoring it; I find myself attracted to you. So far, you're the first and only bloke I've ever fancied. It's strange, but then everything about our friendship is strange." Another pause. "I know you don't do sex, probably not even attraction. I don't want you to feel uncomfortable. I won't ever mention it again, but at least I've got it out in the open. It was wearing on me. Don't worry, I value you too much to press any agenda. You're a good friend, Sherlock, odd, but good."

"Feel better?" Sherlock rolled onto his side, propping his head up on his hand and looking inquisitively at John.

"Yes. Surprisingly so. Thanks for not freaking out." John was still addressing the ceiling.

Sherlock lowered his eyebrows at him, "John, when have you ever known me to 'freak out'?"

"Well, there's nearly every time you don't have a case, when Anderson is within ten feet of you, when Mycroft visits, or I clean up one of your experiments which I swear is health hazard..."

"Perhaps. But when have I ever had that reaction to something you've told me?"

"There was that first dinner, although seriously, that was innocent. I had no idea at that time."

"That was more awkward than 'freaking out'. I felt I needed to define who I was for you. A miscommunication, I realise, but not a freak out."

"True."

Another silence followed in which John slowly exhaled, and Sherlock's brow furrowed in thought.

"John?"

"Hm?"

"While we're on the topic of sex..."

"Go ahead."

"You don't mind?"

"Sherlock, when it comes to your curiousity, I've learned not to mind anything, mostly."

"You've been with many women."

"Yes, quite a few."

"Some were satisfying, I'm sure."

"Yes, most of them actually. Your point?"

"There's something that you wish would happen that hasn't."

"How would you know tha... skip it. I don't want to know."

"Well, what is it?"

John sighed. "A few fantasies, but I suppose the main thing is that I just wish I didn't have to take the lead all the time. It's tiring. But that's society for you. It would be nice if someone wanted me enough to just take charge. Relaxing even."

"I think more men than you can imagine feel that way."

"Really?" John risked his first look at Sherlock since the conversation opened.

"There's a submissive streak I've picked up in at least half of the men we've interviewed. It's not uncommon, nothing to to worry about."

"Oh. Well, thanks for that, I guess."

"Not a problem. Watch some telly, John?"

"Sure, you call for dinner, yeah?"

Sherlock was already dialing.

When dinner arrived, they ate on the couch while both of them picked apart the various show's plots; Sherlock's observations always dwarfing John's, but it didn't seem to matter.

The news proved interesting as Sherlock used the time to tutor John in the art of spotting and interpreting micro-expressions; nearly uncontrollable tells that happened so quickly they were almost impossible to spot. After some time, John spotted three in succession and was treated to a look of suprised admiration and a quirky smile from his friend.

"Why'd it have to be you, Sherlock?"

"Hm?"

"It's so damn inconvenient. If I had to get interested in a bloke, why couldn't have it been someone who's not my best friend and flatmate? I feel like the butt of a cosmic joke."

"I can understand the frustration, but it's hardly the first time someone I know well has expressed interest. Don't let it bother you. Your honest approach was much more preferable to some of the machinations I am otherwise exposed to. You'll probably be somewhat uneasy for a few months, but I'm sure you'll get back to feeling normal around me soon enough."

"Really? I mean, who else?"

"There's Molly, of course. Incurable case there, I'm afraid, unless I get positively poisonous, and I'm unwilling to do that, so I ignore the advances. Then of course, Sally."

"Sally?"

"I rebuffed her rather tersely, I'm afraid; it had been a trying day. Why do you think she dislikes me so much? And Moriarty of course."

"Moriarty? He wanted to kill you!"

"Yes, but for Moriarty, that was his version of a courtship dance. He was showing off for me, pulling strings, showing me what he could do, all while providing mind candy for me too. A mind like that, I was almost tempted."

"You can't be serious."

"Oh he was quite insane, certainly, but brilliant as well. An intellect like that is amazingly tantalizing."

"...The Woman?"

"Truthfully, I haven't figured that out completely yet; she was something new, but intriguing in part because, she too, was very bright, and unreadable. She made for a brilliant foil, kept me on my toes. Quite the puzzle."

John laughed a bit ruefully, "Guess I haven't a chance then. The only ones who've come even close to tempting you are somewhat insane geniuses."

Sherlock laughed: Deep, rich and full. It brought a smile to John's lips, despite it all. The situation was rather ridiculous, after all.

More telly followed, until John's eyes began to close and his head would slowly drop before jerking back up.

"Go to bed, John. I enjoy the company, but you'll only give yourself whiplash at this rate."

John nodded, bid Sherlock good night and slowly hauled himself up the stairs to his bedroom, stripping off his clothes, fumbling for pyjamas and flopping into bed, tunneling under the covers and asleep minutes later.


End file.
